The Ghost Files
by Invader Kiwi
Summary: Every ghost came from somewhere. Every ectoplasmic manifestation of semi-consciousness must have had an actual consciousness at one point. So here you go. Here are their stories. I own nothing save my brain, and even that's debatable.
1. Ember v1, 'Forgotten'

(**A/N**: I wrote this first chapter almost two years ago. Updates are not promised any time soon.)

* * *

**Ghost Name:** Ember

**Name in Life:** Amber McLain

**Home in Life:** Cutchogue, New York

**Place of Death:** her house

**Date of Death:** September 27, 1980

**Age at Death: **15

**Cause of Death:** house fire

**Last Words:** "You will remember my name."

**Unfinished Business**: lingering abandonment issues

**Ghostly Obsession**: music

* * *

It was September in Cutchogue. Wind was blowing, dead leaves were falling, and the school year was back in session. For the McLains, this meant a double dose of teenage rebellion as the two teens of the family, Michael (17) and Amber (15), tried to survive school, life, and the low expectations of everyone else. Amber had dreams of being a famous rock star; Michael had dreams of being a football player. Neither were having large amounts of luck, as Amber still hadn't composed a single catchy song (she was trapped in perpetual writers' block) and Michael struggled to lift ten-pound weights. But they had hopes.

At school, nothing particularly interesting happened. Oh, there were a few minor events, plenty of gossip on the grapevine, the occasional new student to 'break in.' Amber had a long-time crush on a rather nerdy boy named Eddy, a crush he never seemed to see. Amber was not particularly popular, but she didn't mind. She figured that when she was a famous rock star, she would finally be noticed. Poor girl.

At home, however, the McLain family was in a state of chaos. Apart from raising two teens, the adults of the family, Mr. and Mrs. McLain, had their own problems to deal with. Frequent home arguments and shouting matches left the kids sitting in their rooms, alone. The McLains never spoke to their children at all except to shoo them away "Go to bed, dear", "Not right now, honey", "Just give me a minute, sweetie".

Eventually, in early September, Amber hit a breakthrough. She had a song. Not just a tune – lyrics. Good, catchy lyrics. Well, a rough idea of them. Before she could forget them, she scribbled them down on a sheet of lined notebook paper and, the moment she got home, wanted to show them to her parents. They were in the kitchen, arguing as usual. Amber didn't know what about – she never did, and she didn't care.

"Mom, I have it! I have the perfect song! Mom, please, please, look at this!"

_It was, it was September  
Wind blows, the dead leaves fall  
Cool nights, through to November  
Dead trees, frost on the wall_

She held the lyric sheet eagerly in front of her as she sung the first verse.

"Not now, sweetie, Mommy is busy. Go upstairs and finish your homework."

"But-"

"Not now!"

"But I-"

"Not _now_, Amy!"

"Not now, not EVER!" Amber screamed. "Never, never, never, you never look at me, you never talk to me! And don't call me Amy – it's _Amber_! _Remember my name_! And will you please just _listen_ for once!"

_This world goes on without me  
Winter turns into spring  
But you should, you should not doubt me  
Someday you'll all hear me sing_

Mrs. McLain sighed, shook her head, and resumed her cooking, and a few seconds later resumed her argument with her husband. Furious, Amber stormed up to her room, her brother close behind.

"Hey," he said, knocking on her door. "That sounded pretty good. Can I see?"

"NO!" Amber screamed.

"Please?"

"NO, NO AND _NO_! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!"

There was silence.

"…well… okay… fine… whatever…"

As her brother shut himself in his own room, Amber lay down on her bed, her eyes filled with tears. "No…" she muttered. "No, no, no, no, no…."

Amber rolled over and her eyes caught the purple and blue guitar that she cherished more than anything else in the world, along with an amplifier and some other equipment that she would use to start her own band. Her parents hadn't bought it, of course – she had saved up her allowance for years. Along with the guitar she had an awesome outfit, complete with combat boots. She would make her mark; she would not be forgotten.

And then, she realized that the lyrics weren't right. In fact, the entire thing was wrong. The tune was good, but the lyrics just weren't... _her_. Not yet. But she knew what might work…

_Your life goes on without me  
My life, a losing game  
But you should, you should not doubt me  
You will remember my name _

Over the next week, things got even worse. Michael made the football tryouts and actually became good friends with Amber's crush Eddy, who had in fact tried out for cheerleading. This friendship, however, sparked a shared joke about Amber's rock star fantasy, shredding any hopes Amber ever had about catching Eddy's eye. And as Michael began to rise in popularity, eventually leaving his 'bookworm' friend Eddy behind, he also began to leave his sister behind.

While Michael joined the ranks of the popular, high-and-mighty kids, Amber was stuck on her song. She had a tune, but no lyrics, and she couldn't think of a third verse. The chorus was there, but it wasn't quite _right_ yet.

_Oh, Amber, you will remember  
Amber, one thing remains  
Oh, Amber, so warm and tender  
You will remember my name_

The trouble? 'Amber' didn't really work with it. And her brother never ceased to point it out. Michael had gone from eager and supportive older sibling to controlling, irritating… well, the word that came to mind wasn't exactly polite. In fact, he had become rather a lot like their father. As divorce papers were filed and reviewed, the family was spiraling down into a hole and Amber felt lost - more lost than she had ever felt in her life. The night the papers were signed, Mrs. McLane packed her bags and left without so much as a goodbye. For a while, Amber held the hope that she might come back, that she wouldn't just abandon them.

Two weeks went by. She didn't call.

It was mid September when one good outcome from the siblings' social separation began to assert itself: Eddy was no longer hostile to Amber. In fact, she sometimes caught him looking at her, just out of the corner of her eye. It wasn't until the last week of the month that he actually approached her.

Within the misery that had overcome Amber McLain's life, the shy and awkward offer of dinner and a movie from Eddy was extremely welcome. She couldn't bear it anymore – the loneliness, the abandonment. Her father didn't speak to anyone except Michael anymore (who himself only gave a quick nod to Amber whenever he saw her), and he was periodically drunk besides. It was so stereotypical, so much like a pitiful sob story, that reality _seemed_ like a story. Like a dream. She had considered running away, but she really didn't have any place to go. All she had at the time was her music, and even that… well, she didn't want to think about that.

So the invitation from Eddy was a very, very nice surprise. They decided on a movie that had recently come out: Airplane!. It was apparently very popular, and a comedy, and since Amber could certainly use some comedy in her life, she accepted instantly.

That evening, Amber's father was out drinking and her brother was at a _rock concert_ of all things (but was Amber invited? Oh, no. She'd been forgotten, as usual), Amber waited outside the movie theater for Eddy. The movie was scheduled for six o'clock.

7:00. No show. (_He's just late – his clock is an hour early or something. We'll just catch a different movie.)_

8:00. Not there. _(He's just late – he had lots of homework to do and lost track of time.)_

9:00. No one. _(He'll be here soon. He won't forget me.)_

10:00. Nada. _(… he forgot me. HE. __**FORGOT**__. __**ME**__.)_

Amber was never to know that Eddy had, that night, suffered a family crisis – his grandfather had died of cancer. He had not forgotten her. It was not his fault. But she did not know that. She could never have known that. And she couldn't take it anymore.

At half-past ten, Amber McLain went home to find her brother lounging on the couch, watching some dumb show. He glanced at her, her red eyes and tear-streaked face, her clenched fists, and frowned. "Hey, Amy, y'okay?"

Amber spun around and glared at him. "DON'T CALL ME AMY!" she screamed. "REMEMBER. MY. NAME!"

"Woah, okay, okay. What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's WRONG with _ME_?" Michael had never seen his sister this angry before. Her brown eyes seemed almost red with rage, and her neatly brushed blonde ponytail was disheveled, from her tearing furiously through it. Amber was shaking. "Where _are _they? First Mom abandoned me, and now Eddy…"

"Eddy?" Michael's eyes widened. "Amber, what happened?"

"WHAT DO YOU CARE?" Amber screamed and then stormed upstairs to her room.

Almost without thinking, she grabbed her guitar and began to strum the opening chords to her song. As she sang, she found her original lyrics being twisted out of place. They weren't right – they never had been.

_It was, it was September  
Wind blows, the dead leaves fall _

"They forgot me," she thought. "They always forget me. But they _will_ remember me. From now on. They will say my name. They will _all_ say my name."

_To you, I did surrender  
Two weeks, you didn't call..._

Downstairs, Michael turned his television down to listen to his sister singing. She actually did have a very good voice. But the emotions… she was absolutely miserable and utterly furious at the same time. She was obviously in a deep stage of depression, and had been for a while – wasn't he supposed to notify someone? A doctor or a suicide hotline or something…

Suddenly, he felt very worried for his sister.

_Your life goes on without me  
My life, a losing game _

No one really knows what happened next. No one really knows why disaster struck. But as Amber played, the plug that attached her amplifier to the wall began to spark – perhaps there was a short circuit, perhaps something was wrong with the wire. Perhaps Amber's raging emotions had become tangible and given off a spark. But no one would ever know. As the edge of the carpeting caught fire, Amber didn't even catch the whiff of smoke, so absorbed was she in her music.

_Oh, Amber, you will remember  
Amber, one thing remains_

The flame had spread to her bed, right next to the plug. The smell of smoke was growing stronger and, in the middle of the chorus, Amber realized that something was burning. Perhaps somehow, in her heart, she knew what was happening. But she didn't run for the fire extinguisher, or for a bucket of water. Perhaps, deep down, she didn't really care.

_Oh, Amber, so warm and tender  
You will remember my name_

But Michael did care. And when he first smelled the smoke, his first thought was of his little sister. He stormed upstairs to try and find out where it was coming from, and saw a few wisps curling underneath his sister's bedroom doorway. "AMBER!" he screamed. But she just sang.

_Your heart, your heart abandoned  
You're wrong, now bear the shame_

Michael was pounding on the door, shouting for Amber to let him in, but she had slid her dresser up against the door on the other side. She was trapped. He frantically ran out of the house, hoping to find a ladder, get her down from the balcony outside her bedroom, something, _anything_! Even outside, as he frantically screamed for help, smoke now pouring out of Amber's bedroom, he could still her singing.  
_  
Like dead trees in cold December  
Nothing but ashes remain..._

Ashes. Death. Remains. She was going to die. _His sister was going to die_!

He called the fire department. He begged for help from neighbors, screaming, hysterical, his sister was up there, his sister was trapped… the fire had spread out of the window onto Amber's balcony and then the roof of the house, and it was quickly spreading further, but through the open balcony door Michael could see his sister, wreathed in flame, standing there with her electric guitar, singing so loudly that she almost drowned out the infernal crackling of the flames.

_Oh, Ember, you will remember  
Ember, one thing remains  
Ember, so warm and tender  
You will remember my name_

"Ember," she thought. "Of course. It fits perfectly. I am Ember, and you will _all_ remember me!" The flames hurt – they were burning her, her guitar was overheating in her hands, she didn't know or care how it was still working. Her long blonde ponytail was on fire and her clothes were smoldering and she was going to die.

And she would never let them forget her.

_Oh ohh!  
Ember, you will remember  
Ember, one thing remains_

As the distant sirens of a fire truck began to approach, Michael could only gaze in horror as his sister stepped out onto the burning covered balcony. Her hair and clothes were ablaze – she must have been in agony. He turned away – he couldn't watch, he couldn't… but he could listen. She was still singing, even as the flames scorched her flesh and her eyes were filled with tears, running down her face, evaporating from the heat…

_Ember, so warm and tender  
You will remember my name_  
_Yeah! You will remember my name!_

The song ended in a scream, one that lingered longer than any note Amber McLain had ever sung before. It pierced the air, a discordant screech that tore a hole through her last chord as her guitar finally gave out, along with the balcony, as she plummeted down onto the lawn. Michael rushed forward to aid his sister, just as half a ton of flaming debris collapsed on top of her.

Her scream was extinguished.

Less than fifteen minutes later later, so was the fire.

The fire was listed as an accident, which in one way it was, but Michael would never forget the completely fearless and, in fact, almost _blissful_ look on his little sister's face as the fire began to consume her. Perhaps it wasn't suicide, but she certainly seemed to embrace it. They found her body soon after, a burned, mangled mess that he couldn't bear to look at. Her precious guitar was in a similar state. All that remained was a pile of glowing embers.

Mr. McLain returned home shortly after the body was found, totally drunk, though the sight of his daughter's remains seemed to magically make him sober. He just stood and stared, stricken with horror, at the crisped body lying on a stretcher. He whispered "Amy" in a voice laden with grief and astonishment.

Michael glared at his father, overcome by anger. "No. She _hated_ it when anyone called her that. Her name is _Amber_. And I will _always_ remember that. That's all she wanted, for someone to remember her. Mom abandoned us, you drink all night and don't even remember your _own_ name in the morning, let alone hers, and this evening, a boy, her friend, someone she thought whom she _just_ _might_ be able to count on for once, ignored her. It's my fault. It's all my fault. My little sister needed me and I just… _forgot_ her."

The next day, Edward 'Eddy' Lancer heard the news. He was distraught – mortified at the thought that he contributed to Amber's not-quite-suicide. In time, however, the feeling would pass. And twenty years later, when Ember McLane, ghostly rock star, showed up outside Casper High and interrupted the class he taught there, he wouldn't even recognize her. Let alone remember her name.

In the ghost zone, a red-eyed, blue-haired teenager woke up, guitar in hand. She couldn't recall much at first, just hazy images of fire and music. But she did know one thing.

"They will all remember my name."

* * *

**A/N:** Yep. Well… as I said, I'm terrible at writing emotional stories. Now, on to something a little more light-hearted and completely random: the Box Ghost. Whose origin story (#1 – I'm considering writing several possible ones for him) is a crossover with Doctor Who. Yep, you read that right. Though as I said, I'm slow, so don't expect it any time soon.


	2. Box Ghost v1, 'Adric in Overalls'

(**A/N: **So I said I wouldn't update. Right. Here's a (_really short_) update. Again, though, no promises for the future, since I'm also juggling college applications and a novel-length Portal fanfiction.

Don't ask where this came from. I really haven't the faintest idea. I just figured the Box Ghost might be obsessed with boxes because his life had revolved somehow around one particular, special box. Now I'm a Whovian, so when I think of a special box, I think of a certain big, blue, dimensionally transcendental one. So yeah. This is kind of weird. In fact, it's pure nonsense. Feel free to ignore my ramblings.)

* * *

**Ghost Name:** The Box Ghost

**Name in Life:** Adric

**Home in Life:** Planet Alzarius

**Place of Death:** space freighter

**Date of Death:** K-T Boundary (65 million B.C.E.)

**Age at Death: **18

**Cause of Death: **spaceship crash

**Last Words:** "Now I'll never know if I was right."

**Reason for Becoming a Ghost**: fragmented residual memories

**Ghostly Obsession**: boxes

* * *

"_How much time have we got?"_

"_Not long. The ship is on maximum drive."_

"_Could we undo what the Cybermen have done?"_

"_Given time, I'm sure."_

Time. That was it. Time and… and…

"_There's an override on the navigational control. My instructions are instantly countermanded."_

"_It's this thing that's causing it."_

"_Can't you disconnect it?"_

_"It's probably booby-trapped."_

_"Maybe so, but it can be disconnected."_

"_How?"_

_"Solve the three logic codes."_

"_That could take forever."_

And now he had forever. But he would never know. He would never know.

He remembered, a little. Just a glimmer of memory, a little blip in whatever echo of consciousness resided in his ectoplasm. His name had been Adric, but he didn't remember that. He hadn't been human, but he didn't remember that, either. He wasn't who he was. Adric was just a kid, really. A boy. And he'd had adventures, so many adventures.

"_That's it! The first one's solved."_

_"We're running out of time."_

Time and… relative something-or-other. He didn't remember. He didn't remember a lot of things. But that was alright, because he'd find it someday. Someday, he'd find what he was looking for. The time-thing that he needed, loved, longed for. Home.

There was a ghost of time, but he wouldn't meddle with things like this, and he certainly never paid any attention to the chubby little remnant of a man, whose mind contained only the faintest echo of the person he once was. The old time-fool had never liked him, had reprimanded him for traveling with the meddler, the renegade, in life… but he didn't remember traveling at all, so it didn't really matter so much.

"_That's it, the second logic code!"_

_"We've come out of warp drive!"_

He'd died young, too young, subconsciously clinging to his old life to the point where his physical manifestation began to show signs of aging. And when he'd degenerated into a short, hunched, pitiful little fool of a dead man, he'd lost what little dignity he'd had.

His only comfort was the possibility, the never-made promise, that someday he would find it again. His home. Not that place, the place he was _from_, the place beginning with an A. (His name did, too, didn't it? He couldn't remember.) And when he awoke in the world of swirling green and black and purple, its faint image still lingered on his mind. As time went on, he'd largely forgotten its appearance – some days, it was clearer in his mind than others – but its shape remained consistent.

It was a Box.

A big, beautiful Blue Box.

_"I can do it. I must do it. There's something missing. There's something I've forgotten."_

He'd forgotten a lot. In fact, he'd forgotten most things. But he would never, ever, forget the Box. It wasn't _his_, not really, but at the same time, it was. It was his home, at least. And in those moments, when his mind was working harder than it ever had, with his life literally on the line, he'd realized at the last second that he'd never see it again.

He'd never see home again.

He'd never go traveling.

He'd never have another adventure.

And that last puzzle… that last question… he'd _answered_ it, hadn't he? He'd _done_ it. But he'd never know if he was right.

_A flash of light, a metal man, a burst of sparks, the end, it was over, there was nothing he could do, and now he'd never know, he'd never find out, he'd never see them again, and…_

Well. Never was a strong word. And he had forever now.

There had been a crash. An explosion. Something. He didn't remember. The ocean in the window, the screen, whatever it had been – that was the last thing he'd saw. His last moment had been blue. But it was the wrong blue, the blue of the sea, not of the Box. And he was blue, too, now – at least a little. But it wasn't right. None of it was right. And no matter how long and how hard he searched, it was never right.

But then, never was still a strong word.

He would find it, someday. Oh, there were millions and millions more boxes to check, certainly, but it had to be there. Because the others (Yes. Yes, there had been others. He remembered them, a little) would never leave him. They were waiting for him in the Box. _The_ Box – the one that was home. The big blue one that they called… called… well, he couldn't remember. His mathematical genius had deserted him, and he wasn't exactly the brightest quasar in the cosmos, but that was irrelevant. Once he found the Box, the… the _time_-thing… then, everything would be alright.

Because he _would_ find it, if it meant he had to search every box in the world.

It wouldn't be so hard. He was the Box Ghost, after all.

* * *

**A/N:** Right. Yes. There you go. Sorry if you're very, very confused – crossovers tend to do that to people who aren't familiar with both sides. Also, yes, my writing style has changed since the first one – it was written two years ago, after all.

I'm also too lazy to proofread right now, so please forgive any nonsensical errors. I'll look over it later.


End file.
